


The Day That Bucky Barnes Returned

by Larsini



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Bucky Barnes-centric, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Torture, Memory Loss, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Smoking, Steve Needs a Hug, everything you'd expect of Bucky really, he gets it too bc I'm not a monster, tony is so done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11076174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larsini/pseuds/Larsini
Summary: It's been more than a year since the Battle at the Triskelion, and the Winter Soldier has been trying to puzzle the pieces of his mind together. Eventually he comes to a decision, chooses the only option left to him - surrender. One name that drives him, one promise he clings to... but will it be enough?AKA Bucky walks straight into the Avengers Tower and hopes no one will shoot his head off.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a possible prequel to all the unfinished Avengers fics I wrote in which Bucky mysteriously is part of the team. Now that I have this out of my system, maybe more will follow. Completely ignores everything after 'Captain America: The Return of the First Avenger'. Sadly English isn't my first language & this fic is un-beta'd and possibly in dire need of another revision, but I really couldn't care less right now. Enjoy, and please comment if you liked it or something could use improvement!

_Bucky_.

He lets the name roll through his mind, silently forms it with his lips, his face averted to not draw any attention. He doesn't like attention, because once people look at him they might _see_ him. And he doesn't want to be seen. Not yet. Not... yet.

 _Bucky_. He likes the name. Likes what it stands for, likes what it could be. Likes that it might be him, and it has to be him, because Steve said so. _Steve_. Another name in his mind, on his lips, and he likes it even more. He is not good with feelings, doesn't know whether he feels at all, but the name seems to set something inside him at ease. It's what draws him. It's calling for him.

There is not much else he can do but follow.

It's funny, really, how he should be afraid but isn't, or at least he thinks it's funny. Probably. Humor is like feelings, like his thoughts, he doesn't really understand the essence of it, but despite the shambolic silence in his mind... he knows things. He knows that he likes these names. He knows that they feel good. And he knows that it's funny, in a strange, grim way. He tries not to think about it because that sometimes leads to dark moments, and he can't have one of these _now_. Instead he raises his hand, the human one, and rests the cigarette against his lips to draw another breath of smoke.

Around him, people are moving. Talking, laughing, muttering into their phones and waving their hands, clutching bags and moving in and out of the building before him, never letting the wide, translucent doors come to a rest. He stands a little to the side, with another man, and that one is smoking as well. He is tall, middle-aged, in a stern suit and an able body underneath, scowling at his phone while his cigarettes draws silver tendrils. A cool breeze, and then they are gone.

When he tilts his head, just a little to look past the cover of his cap, he can see a security camera aimed at him. He wonders whether there is someone on the other side who knows him. _Sees_ him. He hopes that isn't the case, because he has to do this in his own time. If they see him and fall into action before he has taken his steps... it probably wouldn't matter. The end result would be the same, he isn't stupid, he knows that. There is no good reason to... hope. But he still does. Because he _wants_ it, and that's right up there with feeling and thinking that something is funny. It has no substance, but it's there.

He wants to do this in his own way.

He watches the misty smoke fall from his lips and curl in the air before it dissolves. He doesn't really know how it happened, that he started to smoke. No – continued it. He did it before, he realized that the moment someone offered him a cigarette, in front of a bar that now seems so far away. He went there because... he wanted it. Wanted to get away from himself and see some people, without being seen. Then he stepped outside, because something told him to. Because it seemed right, like a routine. Someone offered him a cigarette, and he said yes, and that's when he knew.

So now he smokes, because he did that before. Because it feels like something Bucky would do, and again, that's funny. He doesn't know Bucky, not really, but he's still there with him. In him. He wants him to stay because it's better than feeling empty, and because Steve wants Bucky too. And if Steve wants Bucky... then he can keep Bucky inside. Say his name in his mind and smoke and, when someone asks for his name, give them Bucky's instead. Maybe, if he does that, the pieces will eventually fall back into place.

That's really all he wants. It seems like something that should happen.

His cigarette burns down, and he takes one last drag, deliberately slowly, before stubbing it out. It's time, he knows that. He has to do it now, or he will stand here all day. Watching. Waiting. He has to do it now, and so he focuses on the slight burn in his chest and the bitter taste in his mouth and the way the silver tendrils curl and disappear, because maybe it's the last time he gets to do that. Maybe it's the last time he gets to do any of this. Maybe this is where it ends – or starts again. He'd rather have it end, he doesn't want to go back to the way things were. To knowing nothing and obeying and just existing, without feeling or smoking or thinking that something is funny.

But it's time. Bucky. He once more tests the name, draws a breath and straightens his shoulders before he starts walking. Bucky. That name... it's something to hold on to, and so he decides that for now he will be Bucky. Until someone tells him he's not.

Until _Steve_ tells him he's not, because Steve seems like the only one who'd know.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking up to the reception is easy. Not giving in to fear is not. There are too many people around him, and they might see him any moment now. There are cameras. There are guards, looking calm and relaxed and acting as if there are no gun holsters strapped to their thighs and no devices plucked into their ears, but he can feel their alertness. They are watching. He hopes they won't see him before he gets to do this. Because even if the result would be the same, it is important to do this his way. Make this decision, something he is still not good at, something he has to reclaim for himself. Consciously make a decision. Willingly come to this place. Deliberately give up his cover.

Surrender.

The woman behind the counter doesn't look up when he steps closer. She is young and looks healthy, with smooth, shimmering hair and nice skin, and he hesitates for a moment while her eyes don't move to meet his. Then he makes his decision.

''I need to see Steve Rogers.'' His voice is silent, and at first he doesn't know whether she heard it. Her fingers still fly over the keyboard, and he is short before saying it again. It's funny – again, that thought - to stand here and... be ignored. No reaction. As if he's invisible, although he knows he's not.

Then she looks up.

''And who are you?'' Her voice is far too calm. So she doesn't see him, then. Not surprising. He looks different now, but he knows that they still want him. Knows what they are looking for. So he does something he hasn't done for a long time. Pulls the glove off his left hand. Places it on the counter before her, watches how her eyes latch on to the cold, shining metal. They widen.

Now she sees him.

''I'm Bucky Barnes,'' he says, ''and I need to see Steve Rogers.'' A short pause. ''Please.'' He doesn't want to scare her, and to his relief she doesn't scream. Just stares at him for a moment. His face, his hand. Then she nods, lips parted in surprise and something he can't read.

''Alright,'' she whispers, ''alright. Just... stay calm, okay? I... I'll make a call.''

He knows she won't call Steve. He's not stupid, she will call security. Someone to take him down before he can start killing people. He knows that, and he nods and tries to smile. He won't kill anyone, but she can't know that. So he lets her make the call. Slips his hand back into the cover of the glove and waits, still smiling, because that's what people do. His smile probably isn't very assuring, he has no practice. The Winter Soldier needed no smiles. But now, that he is Bucky... he likes to think that Bucky smiled. So he tries and fails and smiles nevertheless, and the woman looks at him with horror but doesn't scream.

Bucky waits.

She makes her call. Says that there is a visitor for Captain Rogers. Tells them to send someone. She doesn't say his name, doesn't mention the cold metal, doesn't ask for someone to shoot him. She doesn't need to, not now, when she has their attention. When they know what to look for, when they will find him standing before her desk. It won't take them long to see him. The woman, the tag on her name says 'Linda', looks back up at him and smiles as well, and if his mind wasn't so full, screaming at him to run, he might have laughed – because her smile looks about as real as his own one feels. He tries not to think about it.

''Just... stay calm, okay?'' she asks with a shaky voice, and he nods. There are still so many people here, shining glass and polished tiles and pots with plants, everything looks so professional. He doesn't belong here, but he didn't know where else to go. _Steve_ , it hammers in his mind, _Steve_ , _Steve_ , _Steve_ , again and again, and he hopes this wasn't a mistake. He made a lot of those, and this one might be his last. The barely concealed fear in the woman's eyes says as much. If she looks at him like that, after he smiled and didn't try to hurt her, he doesn't even want to imagine what will wait for him in Steve's blue eyes.

No fear, because Steve isn't afraid of him. But...

But. He swallows and looks at his hands. Waits.

Something changes, he can taste it in the air. The murmurs of the people washing up and down around them, the sounds of their foot steps. Something changes. He slowly looks over his shoulder. No one screams, but now there is fear. Tension. He can see several men in suit, silently whispering to the people in the lobby. Telling them to get out, to leave, and they do it. Slowly. No one screams. Bucky watches while the lobby clears. Watches the men in the suits watch him, and he wonders whether he could still get out. It would be difficult. Bloody. Messy. But he could do it. Take Linda as his hostage, maybe, and get away before it's too late.

But instead he stands still, just watches in silence. His arms hang limply by his side, and he forces his hands to stay relaxed. His mind is empty. His pulse hammers in his temples, fear and instinct fighting for his attention and getting none. This is his decision.

He won't back out now.

Finally the lobby is empty, only him and Linda and the men in the suits left, and they haven't drawn their weapons on him. Not yet. They are waiting for backup, he can see it in their eyes. They are well-trained. Slowly move between him and the doors leading outside, to cut off his way. No fear in their eyes, just focus and alertness. He turns to Linda.

''You can leave,'' he says, and he thinks his voice may be soft. He hopes it is. She stares at him with wide eyes and doesn't move. He doesn't smile now, because she doesn't believe it anyway. Instead he takes a step back, away from her desk, and raises his hands.

''I won't hurt you,'' he promises silently. ''You can leave.'' She hesitates. Her eyes are big and brown and full of fear. He can't change that now, so he waits, and then she pushes back her chair. She gets up very carefully, raises her hands as well. Time drags on while she moves away, her eyes never leaving his, and he realizes that he is smiling again. Strange. He didn't mean to, and it doesn't feel happy, but when Linda is finally far enough way, when one of the men takes her arm and shields her with his body, leads her away, some of the tension drains. At least there are no more civilians around. They are all professionals here.

He turns around, his hands still raised. Not a threat. Not a threat, he thinks, and he hopes they can see that. They look focused, but not nervous. He hopes it will stay that way, because he doesn't want to be shot now. Not here, not yet. He watches them and they watch him, and the lobby is so silent it hurts in his ears. A few minutes ago the hall was crammed. Now there is only deadly tension.

He can see their eyes flicker to the elevator, again and again. Waiting for backup. He huffs and decides to be stupid. To speed this up a little, because his instincts are going haywire. They need to get this over with before he snaps, before it gets too much and he can't stay still any longer. So he takes a cautious step, back into the middle of the lobby. Very, very slowly, his hands raised, his face an empty mask. Like a metallic wave the sound of safety triggers being unlocked washes through the room. No one shoots. No one speaks. They just watch, and he slowly walks further into the room. Between the rows of elevators on the one end and the wide, gleaming glass doors on the other, right into their mid so they can surround him from all sides and feel a little safer.

So far it worked better than he had dared to hope.

''Calm now,'' one of the men says, his weapon raised and steady in his hands.

''I am calm,'' he lies softly, and because that is more comfortable he places his hands behind his head. Folds his fingers, and he hopes that no one can see the tension hidden by his gloves. His left hand clamps down hard enough to bruise his right, even through the fabric, but it's better than nothing. At least he can keep his mind at bay. No one shoots.

The elevator doors open. He doesn't turn, but judging by the sound it's more than one. Muffled steps, hushed murmurs and commands. The sounds of metal and armor and heavy boots, and then they are circling him. He can't help but admire their organized movements, their focus and the short time it took them to get here. An entire team, all clad in black, armed and armored and silent, circling him and aiming their weapons at his head.

''On your knees,'' someone says behind him, and the order is not as harsh as he expected it to be. He complies, bends his knees and sinks to the floor. His heart is hammering. If they shot him now there would be no questions. Steve isn't here. They could do it. Or maybe they just bring him away. Scrutinize him, run tests, lock him up and punish him and ignore what he says. What he wants. It has to be that way, it always was, but he still obeys and goes on his knees and keeps his hands behind his head and doesn't speak. His decision. Can't back out now. _Steve_.

Around him there is muttering. They are waiting for orders, silently talking to each other, trying to assess the situation. His metal arm is too strong to be cuffed and they didn't expect him to come here like that, without provoking their fire, and don't know what to do about it. _Funny_ , he can hear it echo through his head, _it's_ _funny_ , _it really is_ , and maybe that's true. He doesn't care, not now. It's too late for that anyway, and he exhales slowly, wishes for a cigarette to pass the time. To make this feel a little better. It will take a long time for his arms to grow numb, but the position isn't comfortable either. On his knees. Guns trained on his head. He hates that.

But he waits.

''Alright, someone call Stark. Maybe he knows what to do,'' someone says. Stark. Tony Stark. Iron Man, an Avenger like Steve. His friend, maybe? Doesn't matter. Stark is good, Stark means another step closer to Steve.

He wonders how many steps there are.

''Sir,'' another man says, so flatly he sounds hardly human. It brings memories. ''I think that won't be necessary.'' The rustling of protective padding against under armor when he moves, and the attention in the room shifts.

He raises his head, looks up at the men. Most are watching him, even if it's hard to tell through the cover of their helmets. But some of them are not, and he follows their gaze to the entrance, to the wide glass doors. The men in the suits have left, they are now outside, telling people to wait or move on. But that's not what the team is looking at.

Iron Man dropped from the sky, and now he is marching into the lobby. His crimson suit is clicking silently when he moves, and the eye slits of his visor are glowing. He holds out his hand, aims with his palm like the agents do with their guns, ready to fire.

''What the actual fuck, Barnes.'' His voice sounds metallic.

''No resistance, sir, but we don't know -'' the man who wanted to call him – the team's captain, maybe – begins, but the Avenger cuts him off.

''Get moving. He'd slice right through you anyway, I'll take him.''

''Sir, we -''

''Don't 'sir' me, Sarge, I'm not your boss.'' Iron Man comes closer. Looks down at him, and it's hard to imagine there's a man inside that suit. ''Cap will lose his fuckin' mind, you know that?'' he snarls at him, but it doesn't sound angry. That's good. Maybe it's a lie, but at least he hasn't fired yet. Hasn't yet decided to end this here and now.

''Fine intelligence agency you guys are,'' he then says to the agents. ''How long you been lookin' for that guy? A year? And here he is, strolling right into my lobby, and you had no fuckin' clue. Guess you just ruined your chance for promotion.'' His glowing eyes return. ''Alrighty, Barnes, up with you. And don't make me kill you, only just renovated the place.''

 _Barnes_. The name is less familiar, but it fits. _James Buchanan Barnes_. That's him, maybe. But Steve called him Bucky, and so he likes that one better. Bucky obliges and gets back to his feet, not lowering his hands to steady himself. Stark nods, the round light on his chest pulsing in a steady rhythm. Around them, the agents still watch and wait, ready to fire.

''You, you and you,'' Iron Man points at three men, ''elevator on the left. I want you up on twenty-two in a minute. Fury's in on it, so no lollygaggin'. Rest of you, take the day off. Great work at wasting tax money. C'mon, buddy.'' Metal fingers close around Bucky's arm, the left one, and he fights back the urge to flinch. To wrestle himself out of that grip, because it's his strong arm. The one that could shatter Stark's visor and get through his suit. His only way out, now that he has gotten so far.

Instead he relaxes and lets himself be led away, to the elevators, past the agents. Hushed muttering in his ears, a tangible tension in the air, rustling and clicking and muffled murmurs, and Stark ignores it all and leads him to one of the elevators.

''Sir, he's dangerous, you shouldn't go alone -'' One of the agents speaks up again, and the Avenger turns, eyes glowing.

''You _do_ realize who you're talking to?'' he asks, metallic voice gaining an icy edge. He gives Bucky a shove, not hard, but determined enough to have him step inside the cabin, and he doesn't protest, caught up in the buzzing in his head. Stark follows after him and glowers back the agents.

''I got this. Now get out of my lobby, it's a work day and my people have stuff to do.'' The elevator doors close right on cue, and then it's just the two of them. Bucky retreats into the corner of the cabin, back against the wall, and feels a looming anxiety attack. It's too small, not enough room, and no way out. Iron Man is blocking the exit, and he's staring. Solid metal, sturdy and strong, and Bucky has no weapons. He could do some damage, but it will be difficult. Not enough room.

No. Not 'will'. He won't. No fighting. This was his decision. He can feel his shoulders graze the wall when he slumps, draws in some air. His fingers, both human and metal, are clenching and opening. The hammering in his temples is painful. He is afraid.

''J.A.R.V.I.S., bring us to twenty-two and get Fury on the comm. Any place we can stash that guy?'' Bucky doesn't know who Stark is talking to, but he doesn't open his mouth to ask. His teeth are buried in his lower lip, and he can taste hot copper flooding his tongue. _My_ _decision_ , he tries to tell himself. _My_ _decision_ , _my_ _decision_ , _Steve_ , _this_ _was_ _my_ _decision_ , again and again, and he nearly misses out on the calm voice breaking the silence, only jerked back to attention when the cabin starts to move.

''Certainly, sir, I will guide you. Director Fury is already waiting. I should warn you that Sergeant Barnes' vitals are indicating the beginning of an anxiety attack. You might not want to let it get that far.'' Bucky flinches at the voice, at the cool smoothness, because there is no one else in here with them, but he quickly realizes it's an AI. Has to be. He doesn't like it, he dealt with too many of those, but it's a relief. He didn't miss anything. Still just him and Stark. Crammed into a tiny cabin. All metal and tension and violence waiting to erupt, and he can feel his breathing fall flat, tries to think of something else. _Steve_. _Steve_. But it doesn't work.

Iron Man turns around, studies him. His hands are lowered, but he is radiating readiness.

''Don't pass out on me,'' he says, and Bucky's eyes flicker up. Two bright lights, glowing and cold, eating right into him. _Seeing_ him, and he is not armed. Can't get away. He can feel his head grow light, feels the urge to drop his mind. Back down to the lower levels, the ones that can help him now, the ones that have no use for smiles or gloves or fighting back the panic. The hammering in his temples is too strong, slams him down further with every second, and he hears a metallic screeching when his left hand tries to dig into the wall, with enough force to just grind through his glove.

Iron Man takes a step back, raises his hands. But not to attack. Why not? His surroundings are growing blurry, his breathing is far too fast.

''Easy, Barnes, don't panic.'' A sound comes from the visor, a far too human sound, when Stark clears his throat and it rings through the air. ''Let's make a deal – you don't hurt me, I don't hurt you. No fighting, okay? I'm not really in the mood.''

He nods. He doesn't know why, what he just agreed to, but he nods nevertheless, because Stark is talking. Talking is good. Talking means he doesn't mean to kill him. Not now. Not yet.

''Fuck, I'm not... I'm not trained for this stuff. J.A.R.V.I.S.,'' Bucky hears him say, and he thinks he hears a groan. ''Any chance you got some psychology protocols at the ready?''

Too small, the cabin is too small. No way to get out. They know he's here, they know who he is. They will take him away, this was a bad idea, this was a bad decision, he should have known, he wasn't meant to make decisions. His breathing is too shallow. His heart is aching, thundering too hard against his ribs, and still that metallic screeching where his fingers dig into the wall. _Steve_ , he tries, but it doesn't work. Steve isn't here. Can't help him now, never did, just said he would, and maybe that was a lie. Can't trust them. Everyone's lying and Steve's not here and this was a bad decision and those horrible eyes _staring_ at him...

''It is important to avoid hyperventilation,'' the smooth voice says, and a low sound comes from the suit, like a snarl.

''What, like that paper bag breathing thing? Sorry, forgot to bring one... not helping, buddy.'' He can hear the words, registers them on a distant level and files them away, but it seems so far away, doesn't matter now, not when he can't get out of here, when they can see him, why did he ever do this why did he ever come here H.Y.D.R.A. is everywhere they can find him here they will get him and take him back and...

''Barnes! For Heaven's sake, snap out of it,'' and then someone touches him and he flinches, tries to get away. _Don't fight_. _No resistance_. _Don't fight_. _Don't give them a reason, just run and hide, run and hide and disappear_ , but he can't run...

''Barnes!'' He finds himself pressed against the wall, two strong, metallic arms pinning him down, and there's a face before his, and it's not the one with the glowing lights, it's human. Dark eyes, glaring, and bared teeth, but he can see the tells in the man's facial muscles, microexpressions saying more than words can, and then he realizes he is panting and in pain and panicked and...

''The emergency system could flood the cabin with -'' the smooth voice says from somewhere, but the man pinning him down – _Stark it's Stark he's with Steve he's not H.Y.D.R.A. he's with Steve Stark is good he knows that name Stark is good_ – growls out a sound and shakes his head.

''No tranquilizers, Cap would kill me.'' _Cap, that name rings a bell, he knows it, it's Steve they used to call him that they used to call him Cap in the trenches they used to call him Cap it's Steve he is talking about Steve God why can't he focus he needs to hear this_ -

''Listen to me, Barnes,'' Stark snarls in his face, and then the pressure on his right arm disappears and returns on his jaw, cold metal fingers closing around his face, holding it in place, digging down but not bruising, and he listens, he tries so hard to listen...

''You came to us, you remember that? You're in the Avengers Tower, you came here, and no one will hurt you. You gotta calm down, you gotta get a hold, I promise I won't hurt you. Do you understand that? I won't hurt you. You're...'' He blinks, microexpressions saying what he doesn't. ''You're safe,'' he lies. ''I won't hurt you. Snap out of it, man, I don't wanna knock you out, I don't know how to deal with this shit. Get a hold, Barnes!'' The words come tumbling, crash into his mind, he can feel them, trying to pierce through. He remembers, it's all there, it's dim but he remembers, and if he can only stop thinking about running now, if he can only stop thinking about the pressure on his arm and the pain on his jaw and the door that is blocked to him...

His head flies to the side when it tries to escape his spiraling thoughts, jerks hard enough to ignore the strong hold on his jaw, and he draws a ragged breath of air, sucks it in greedily and stares at the wall, stares and tries to breathe, his mind momentarily clear. _Snap out of it_. _Snap out of it_ , he shakes his head, tries to clear it, hears a sound that must be him, groaning, and tastes copper again, and all the while he hears Stark talking to him. Telling him he's safe, that no one will hurt him, that he has to get a hold, Barnes, Barnes, Barnes, get a hold, you're safe, you're...

''Fuck,'' he spits out and feels his knees give in when his body convulses, feels pressure on his back when it slides down the wall. His arm is still held up, pinned in place by the unrelenting iron grip, and he shakes his head, again and again, until it all disperses and the mist parts a little.

Hell, what was he thinking?

''Fuck,'' he moans again, because that's all he can say. _Idiot_ , he thinks, _you're an idiot, what did you expect, of course you'd lose it, you always do, of course this had to happen_... he closes his eyes and opens them again. Sudden pain, thunder in his temples, in his chest, and his head is far too light, his jaw hurts and there's blood in his mouth, and his body can't collapse because Stark still holds his arm in place... Stark.

Bucky blinks and looks up.

''What the hell, man?'' the Avenger says, and his dark eyes are wide, his facial muscles tense. ''Got it together now?''

''Yeah,'' he pants and he doesn't take it back. Can't check it now, just has to believe it. Make it true. ''I'm good.'' He's not, he's losing his fucking mind, but that's nothing new. His head hits the wall with a thumping sound, and he draws another breath, warm air tasting of copper and dryness and something chemical, something artificial, and he realizes that they are still in the elevator. In a tiny cabin, his arm pinned to the wall, the looming shape of Iron Man towering over him.

He exhales and curses himself for being such an idiot.

''Thanks,'' he murmurs, ''for not killing me.'' He has no idea why that hasn't happened, why the man only decked him instead of taking him out once and for all, but he's still very much alive. Hell would feel different, hell would be H.Y.D.R.A., and heaven is locked to him, so this has to be living still. He slumps as much as he can, all strength drained, and revels in the safe feeling of his arm locked against the wall.

''You frostbitten assholes and your retro manners, I swear,'' Stark growls, and Bucky has no idea what he's talking about. Bucky, right. That's his name. Man on a mission. Can't lose it _now_.

He drags his focus back together, slams it in the cockpit of his mind.

''Can I see Steve?'' he asks, because that is really all that matters now. Stark scowls down at him, one brow raised as if the question makes no sense. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe Bucky truly is an idiot to believe that will ever happen. Maybe he just hallucinated and what brought him here never took place. It happens.

''I'll let him know you're here,'' Stark promises, and it looks like the truth. Bucky exhales, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding, and relaxes into his pinned down position. That's all there is to it, right? Make sure Steve knows. Make sure he knows, and then wait whether he will come. Maybe it was all a lie. Maybe he will nod and check that off his list – Winter Soldier in custody, mission completed – and never think about it again. Maybe it wasn't a lie, not back then, but it's not true anymore. Maybe he has changed his mind. Maybe he just doesn't care. Maybe he never meant this, maybe he wanted Bucky to do something else, go to another place, or maybe he was hoping for this, and he will come now and turn him into a weapon again, for his own side. The Fist of H.Y.D.R.A., converted to S.H.I.E.L.D. That would be a victory, at least for them, and no one ever asks an attack dog for its opinion.

Bucky knows he has no say in this, never did, never will, and the only thing he can hold on to is that this – him, pinned down in an elevator, trapped and held by Iron Man with no way out and at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mercy – was his own decision. The only real decision he ever made, as far as he can remember. Apart from dragging Steve out of the water, but that wasn't a decision. It just... happened. The thrashing of a frenzied mind, and maybe that's all there is to it. Maybe he just made it all up, afterwards, to tell himself there had been a reason to save the man. Abandon his mission, rescue his target. Unforgivable. _Failure_. Maybe the knowledge of what he did shattered him, and he came up with an explanation. Arranged the pieces until there was a reason, a name, a moment that convinced him, instead of just insanity left unchecked. Something to tell his handlers when they asked him why he did it, but they never asked because he never returned and he doesn't want to anymore he never wanted he just did it until that one day he didn't and maybe that's all there is to it and maybe he is too far gone and this was all just...

''Barnes.'' He looks up. Inside his mind the turmoil dies down a little, hides until he is no longer meeting the dark, enigmatic stare that Stark is giving him. It takes him a moment to figure out why he is looking at him like that, what he is waiting for, and then he realizes, vaguely, that the cabin stopped. He had entirely forgotten that it was still moving, too distracted by the shards and pieces rattling around his head.

He waits, but Stark doesn't do anything. Just looks at him, still holding his arm against the wall, his body safely sheltered in his crimson suit. The light on his chest is shining brightly, but not as bright as it did in the lobby.

Bucky waits. Stark purses his lips.

''Think you can get up?'' he asks, and his voice is calmer than it was. Still tense, but not so urgent anymore. Bucky blinks, then catches on, and a little unsteadily he gets to his feet. He doesn't understand why Stark waits for him and _asks_ when he could order him, or give him a kick, or drag him out of the cabin to wherever they are headed. It seems strangely inefficient, but then again it is none of his business. He doesn't care for Stark. All he wants is Steve.

When Iron Man turns and starts walking, his face still uncovered, Bucky trails after him without any resistance. His left arm hangs limply in the suit's cold red fingers, and he keeps himself a step behind the Avenger, head hanging low to make it obvious that he is compliant. _Not a threat_. _Don't fight_. _Don't give them a reason_.

Behind him he can hear the foot steps of the armed agents following them, already waiting when Stark dragged Bucky out of the cabin, and he doesn't turn to look at them. Keeps his eyes on the carpet passing under his feet, holds a steady distance to the Avenger and hopes that no one will shoot him in the back. But he forces that hope down again, tries not to think of it at all, to not give his mind an opening for fear again. He can't be afraid. Being afraid is a weakness, he knows that, and now it's truer than ever. He has to keep it together.

Then Stark stops, and Bucky looks up. They have walked for quite a while, deeper and deeper into the maze of corridors he didn't bother to map out in his mind, and now they are standing before a door. He looks at Stark, waits for instructions. The Avenger looks back and seems conflicted.

''If I leave you here,'' he finally says, not paying a split second's attention to the three armed agents waiting behind them, ''will you stay?'' That's an odd question to ask. Bucky squints, not sure what to answer. He will stay, yes, he is exactly where he wants to be – okay, not quite, but still. He came here. His decision, why should he leave now? Draw fire and get injured or die and make it worse? And why does Stark wait for a reply when he could simply confine him, or maybe just knock him out until they need him awake again?

Seconds pass.

''Barnes, c'mon, get talking. I hate to cut our short date first, I really do, but I'm a busy man. Yes or no, can I leave you here?'' Stark makes no sense, that's the only thing Bucky can be certain of. His eyes are serious, his lips are wry, his face is tense, his voice annoyed, his words playful and his hold on Bucky's arm far too loose. If it was his human arm the grip wouldn't even hurt.

''I'll stay,'' he finally says, and that seems to be enough.

''Peachy. I'll leave the three stooges to keep an eye on you,'' he prattles while he opens the door, ''and then I'll try and take care of this mess. You want anything? Coffee?'' He leads Bucky through the door, the three agents stay behind.

''Steve,'' Bucky says automatically while his eyes sweep the room. Small, no windows, but not what he expected. The walls are pale, as is the carpet, and there's a table with chairs, but it's not what he knows, not like the bright, cold rooms where the chairs are metal and the table is crusted with blood. Instead it's all wood, dark and shiny, and the chairs have cushions, and there's a yellow cloth on the table, with a glass holding pens and a stack of small notebooks and a vase with flowers.

 _Flowers_.

It makes no sense.

''Yeah, well, Cap's fresh out – I'll see what I can do,'' Stark murmurs and rips him out of his thoughts. ''I'll have someone bring you coffee, just promise you won't kill them.''

''I won't.'' It makes no sense.

''Great.'' The Avenger lets go of his arm, and Bucky flinches a little. Holding his arm meant he was perceived as a danger, and he _is_ a danger, unless they turn him into something less – so this has to be where it changes, right? He turns around, expects to catch a metal fist to the face, or maybe a needle to the neck, or just a bullet between the eyes, but instead Stark just scowls at him.

''Now, don't panic and hold your towel, no one's gonna hurt you. Might take a while, you want something to read?'' His brow arches as he waits. Bucky swallows. Is he really gonna leave him here?

''I'm good,'' he says and hopes he means it, because he can't be sure right now. Stark nods and... _turns_ , just turns his back on him and walks out the door as if he doesn't expect to be attacked, and he doesn't lock the door, he didn't even bother with restraints or threats or anything, anything at all to keep him here, and that _makes no sense_.

Bucky exhales, eyes still locked on the door. His head is swimming, and his chest still aches. It always does after an anxiety attack, even a minor one, and he absentmindedly raises his hand and massages it through his jacket as if that would help. It has to be a trap, because they wouldn't just leave him here... right? He is dangerous. He is the Winter Soldier. He can't just be shoved into... whatever this room is, with an unlocked door and no one to watch him. That's not how it works, not here. Not with S.H.I.E.L.D., they know he is the enemy after all.

A trap then, a trick, a plan he doesn't understand, or maybe there are safeguards in place and he just can't see them. Three armed men in a corridor, that's enough to make him smirk. And he means it, because there is no one here to be convinced of his amusement, nothing to gain by lying to himself. Three armed men in a corridor.

There are _definitely_ safeguards in check.

That is good to know, that means he is better off just staying here, the way he meant to. His eyes flicker through the room. Stark didn't tell him what to do, so he assumes he can sit. His handlers didn't like it when he sat down, not without a command, not when he was with them, but those bastards can rot in hell, and that was long ago. By now he has gotten a vague feeling of what he can and can't do... and no one told him he couldn't sit down.

With a scowl Bucky pads around the table, pulls out one of the chairs and settles down, waiting for the hammer to fall and relaxing a little when nothing happens. After a few seconds he folds his hand on the table, trains his eyes on the door and prepares to wait. He really hopes Stark will keep his word. He really hopes he will tell Steve that Bucky's here. And he really, really hopes that Steve will come for him.

There's not much else to hope for now.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Time drags on.

Bucky is counting silently in the back of his head, the way he was taught. Over the years, H.Y.D.R.A. has taught him a lot, everything he needed to know, every skill that was necessary, every ability that his existence required. Most of it is useless now, at least to him – violent, cold, cruel, a hundred ways to end a life, a hundred more to turn it into agony until death is a mercy. He doesn't need that anymore – doesn't want to need it, really, but it's still there, crammed in the back of his mind, saved in his muscles, lurking under the surface. It comes as naturally as breathing, and he hates it, but other than air he can go without it. Did so for months, no torture, no death, and it's bearable. The alternative is worse, even if the urges linger.

But there are other things as well – his memory, for example, his perfect memory, and that's funny. That's the funniest thing of all, because at the same time his memory is the one thing he can't rely on, the one thing they robbed him of. They took it, twisted it and turned it into something else, and now it's hard to forget while the memories won't come. He can't remember what his mother looked like, if he even had a mother, but the maps and codes and names and files in his head are all intact. Everything, and it's getting too much because he hasn't been wiped for so long. A perfect memory that can't hold his past. That's one of the things H.Y.D.R.A. did to him, and maybe it's the worst.

And keeping track of the time is another skill. It's nothing conscious, just a silent clock in the back of his mind, continuously ticking. He always knows the time. Always knows North, always knows the temperature, always knows everything his surroundings can give him, and it is so deeply engraved he can't etch it out. But that's okay. He doesn't mind these skills, they are useful and they don't hurt. Not him, not anyone else. There are worse things.

Seventeen minutes and forty seconds have passed since Stark turned his back on him and left him alone. Eleven minutes twenty since the door opened again and someone brought him something to drink. First came two agents, weapons aimed at his head, securing the room. Then a very nervous man, dressed in suit trousers and a white shirt, and then the last agent, lingering in the door, palming something. Stun grenade, Bucky suspects, knock out gas or something of the kind, non-lethal and fit for narrow surroundings with civilians around.

He raised his hands when they came in, but he wasn't afraid. He raised his hands and stared to the side, at the wall, not a threat. _Not a threat, don't give them a reason_. His heart hammered, but nothing happened. No one spoke. Then they left and closed the door again, and an uneven sound escaped his throat. Sounded like a laugh, but if that's what it was he's not very good at it. He wouldn't know. So far there has been no reason to laugh, not really.

They left him with something that wasn't laughter, a steaming styrofoam cup filled with coffee and another cup filled with water, and that forced another not-laugh, because who on Earth offered the Winter Soldier coffee? It all made no sense.

He drinks it nevertheless, along with the water, because he is getting cold. He is always cold, and he hates it, and besides – he has nothing better to do. Sitting in a room in the Avengers Tower, three armed agents on the floor, drinking coffee, the bitter, strange taste on his tongue stirring memories he doesn't understand. Maybe it isn't funny, but he finds it hard to believe that. Everything is funny, really, if only because nothing else ever was.

He listens to the clock in his head and warms his hand on the cup and waits. For Steve. For guards. For Stark, for doctors, for pain. Betrayal – or something else, because it probably can't be betrayal when he walked into it like that. Walked into the Avengers Tower and surrendered. It's not betrayal to react to that, and the only reaction that makes sense is to send him back. To H.Y.D.R.A. or S.H.I.E.L.D., depending on what happened after he left. Which organization is stronger now. Who wants him most.

He wonders whether the Bucky he tries to remember was as stupid as the Bucky he tries to be now, and that thought occupies him for a while. He went to the exhibition in D.C., after he dragged Steve from the water. After he had calmed down a bit, after he had realized he needed food and shelter and other things, things he never had to consider before because he always returned to his handlers after a while. Once he had managed these first few days – and he doesn't like to think about it, because they were full of confusion and darkness and fear – he went to that exhibition, fliers with familiar names and faces catching his attention. Maybe he knew how dangerous it was and didn't care, or maybe he knew and that was the reason he did it in the first place, or maybe he didn't have a clue, because in those days that was really all he could be sure of. He knew nothing. Still doesn't, not really, but now he knows that walking in public like that is stupid, especially after the incident at the Potomac River.

He still did it, and he found Bucky's face, and when he stared at it and saw his own reflection next to it... things changed from there. He found Steve as well, pictures and words and his old uniform and other things. His visit didn't take him long. One good look at everything that was meant to be his past and it was saved in his mind, and then he left and went into hiding again and pondered what it could mean.

He still doesn't have an answer.

The cup is growing cooler between his hands, he can feel its lingering heat even through his glove. The left one is ruined, gleaming metal visible between the tattered fabric, and he wonders whether he should have apologized to Stark for damaging his elevator. He hadn't meant to, it had just... happened. And Stark hadn't commented. Had just talked to him, hadn't even hurt him, which was confusing because that was what people usually did when he got like that. Not anymore, not now when he was avoiding them, but his handlers had never liked it, and usually ordered him into cryo when it got that far. But Stark hadn't even talked about that, and he hadn't spoken to him like Steve had either. Where Steve's eyes had been wide and open, Stark's had been repellent. Annoyed, tense, and underneath there was a confusing amount of emotions Bucky couldn't read.

Either way, it all makes no sense, none he can find. Guns aimed at his head and coffee while he waits. Agents on the floor and promises not to hurt him. Maybe it is just the way it had been in the lobby, no one expected this. No one has a plan. They don't know how to treat him because he took them by surprise. He likes that thought. His first major decision, and now S.H.I.E.L.D. is confused. It doesn't have any essence, no real worth, but it feels good.

Then he hears noises on the corridor, and immediately his mind returns to the presence. His eyes latch on to the door, and he listens. There's voices, the sound of something hard bumping against the wall. Then someone says something, and he recognizes the voice as Stark's. He sounds agitated. And then another voice snaps back, closer, and Bucky can feel his chest go tight.

It's Steve.

''Stop me, then!'' he yells, and although his voice is muffled Bucky can still hear him. ''I don't care what you -''

''Steve, _please_!'' That's Stark, and then more noises. Heavy boots, bodies bumping into each other, into the wall, and finally a curse from Stark. ''Fine, have it your way. Get away from there... get away from the door, let him in, I don't care anymore!'' More noises. The familiar noises of armor and steel-capped boots in movement, a short command.

Bucky swallows, feels his fingers clench around the cup. Forces himself to relax so he doesn't crumple it. Wonders whether he has time for another anxiety attack. And then the door opens, with enough vigor to bang against the wall, and Steve strides into the room, looking wild.

The moment he sees Bucky, he seems to shatter. The scowl drops off his face, his mouth falls open, and while his feet take one last step his shoulders flinch back. He freezes, eyes wide, and even with his pulse hammering through his veins and his chest aching and his fingers clenching Bucky can see that the man stopped breathing. He just... stopped, everything about him did, and from the corner of his eye Bucky can see movement on the corridor, behind the blond's back. The agents. Stark. Then the door falls shut, and they are alone.

He swallows and holds his cup a little tighter.

''B-Bucky?'' Steve asks incredulously, and the man in questions slumps a little, relief washing through his chest and lapping away some of the fear. So he recognizes him. That's... good. That's one possible scenario less.

''Yeah,'' he says and watches Steve, holds out for hints as to what will happen next. A thought dashes through his mind and leaves a frown on his face. ''Probably,'' he adds, because he still can't be sure. Steve said he is, and there were enough matching details to make it possible, but he doesn't know for sure.

Steve still just stares at him, and Bucky begins to feel uncomfortable. No – he felt uncomfortable all along. Tense and nervous, but now it's different. Because Steve is here now, looking just the way Bucky remembers – minus the bruises and broken bones and gunshot wounds and tears – but he doesn't react the way he should. He doesn't react at all, in fact, just stands frozen and stares. He started breathing again, Bucky can see the shallow way his massive chest moves under his shirt, and his face has grown a little softer. As if it is slowly, gradually relaxing.

Forty-three minutes since he entered the lobby. Maybe this was a bad idea.

When Steve doesn't react Bucky decides he has to do something. Maybe he is waiting for an explanation. Coming here, just like that, caused quite the commotion, and Bucky knows he needs a reason. No one wants incidents like that, especially not with the Winter Soldier. He tries to think of something to say, to justify himself, because Steve's silent stare is starting to hurt.

''They are after me,'' he hears himself say and swallows. Steve knows who 'they' are, he has to. ''I...'' Bucky hesitates. Thinks of the way they fought, the way Steve pried him out from underneath that steel beam and didn't defend himself and just took the pain and called him his friend. Something inside him latches on to that. He licks his lip. ''I didn't know where to go.'' It sounds pathetic. He could go anywhere, Bolivia, Alaska, maybe even Romania or Kazakhstan or South Africa, there are always ways. He could hide and change his appearance and think of something to make his life fall into place. He could rest a barrel between his teeth and pull the trigger.

Instead he came here. Caused trouble and got in the way and ruined Stark's elevator and now just sits here and drinks coffee, expecting Steve to... what? He doesn't know what he expects. He expects nothing, not really. He just hopes. But Steve doesn't know that, and the longer he stares the brighter his blue eyes seem to become, and Bucky can feel a headache approach.

''I can leave,'' he offers when the silence lasts too long. Feels his shoulders slump a little. He doesn't know what he expected, but he hoped. He thought about Steve so often. About his words. About the things he said and knew and remembered, what he did to Bucky's mind with that. He gave him a name. And now... now he stares at him, makes no move, just stands there. Waits for him to go away, probably. It was too long ago. He didn't mean it or changed his mind.

Bucky swallows, decides to leave it at that. Then he remembers that he won't be allowed to leave. He's a danger, a monster, they will keep him here and lock him up again. Punish him or turn him into a weapon again or both. He knew that. He knew the risk when he came here, but... Steve. He only thought about Steve.

And now Steve looks like he is far away, like he forgot Bucky already. The brunette breathes a sigh. He should have known. Now it's too late.

''Bucky,'' he hears, and it's merely more than a whisper. He looks up. Steve's eyes are so bright the seem to gleam, and his golden skin has grown pale. The sight reminds Bucky of something. The picture he saw in the exhibition, of Steve before the serum. It was an old photograph, not much to go by, but it had rang a bell with him. He had seen that frail, lithe man before, the narrow shoulders, the wide, angry eyes. It seemed... right. Steve had always looked too big to him, from the first time he saw him to the moment he walked through that door, but on that picture he was just right. The way he should be.

And now he looks like that again, and Bucky feels a smile on his lips. A real one this time.

''Stevie,'' he says, it just seems to glide off his tongue, wherever it comes from. The tall blond flinches, but it is barely notable. Not now, when his body has started to shake. But still no words, nothing for Bucky to latch on to. What he has hoped for just doesn't happen. He carefully looses his grip around the styrofoam cup. Maybe, if he leaves, it will be better. Maybe Steve will come to find him later, wherever the agents on the corridor will take him. He knows they are still there, have to be, and if he walks out, slowly and with his hands raised, maybe they won't hurt him. He can't leave anyway. _Don't fight_. _Don't give them a reason_.

He might as well do it before he is ordered.

Bucky slowly gets up, he doesn't want to startle Steve. The blond looks... lost. As if he isn't even here anymore, and that's stupid of him. Bucky is dangerous, he is the Winter Soldier, Steve shouldn't let his guard down like that. He might get hurt. Not that Bucky would do that – not after Steve gave him a name and everything else – but still. He really hopes Steve isn't always that careless, that he has someone watching out for him when he gets like that.

Bucky is standing now, and he begins to raise his hands. _Not a threat, Steve. I don't want to give you a reason_. He slowly shifts away from the table, hands halfway up. And then -

Steve crashes into him, slams his body into Bucky's with bruising force, and everything inside him freezes because _no please I don't want to fight I won't do it please_ and he stumbles back, falls limp and hopes that Steve will make it quick. Will just knock him out and leave it at that, but that seems unlikely – _shot and bruised and broken he is my mission I can finish this now_ – and so he prepares for the pain.

But it doesn't come.

He waits, silent and compliant and ready for whatever Steve will do to him now, but nothing happens. He just... holds him. His arms are wrapped around Bucky as if he wants to squeeze the air out of him, but it's not tight enough to have him pass out. Steve has the strength to do it, he knows that, but he doesn't. He just holds him, as if he wants to keep him in place. Through the fear and the throbbing of his pulse in his ears he can hear Steve's heartbeat, a racing thunder hammering against Bucky's chest, and he knows Steve is ready to fight. Full of adrenaline, all senses at full alert, but he doesn't. He just holds him.

''Bucky,'' he whispers, _whines_ into his ear, ''Bucky, oh God...'' and it doesn't sound the way it should. It's low and hoarse and broken, and then the blond's shoulders shake, so hard it ripples through Bucky as well. Steve is crying.

It makes no sense, not really, and Bucky doesn't know what he's supposed to do, but he knows he didn't want this. Crying isn't good. Crying is weak, he only does that when the pain is too much or his head draws him in with too much force, and Steve is so much stronger than him. Whatever is happening, it must be bad.

Bucky doesn't know how to make the crying stop, but he learned a few things from watching people on the streets. He slowly moves his hands, still raised to surrender, and places them on the blond's shoulders. It would be so easy to gain leverage now, dig his fingers between the hard, strained muscles, enough pain to paralyze, lean back, one hand in Steve's neck, slam his head forward against his nose. Break his neck, shatter his sternum, crush his windpipe.

The part that files it all away and the part that wants to do it are distant in his mind, and he barely feels it. There are more important things right now. Steve, pressed against him, his face buried against Bucky's neck. His broad shoulders, shaking violently, and the heat they radiate through the thin fabric of Bucky's glove. Steve's body is glowing, there's so much warmth that it seems to wash right through and drown out the cold, and his strong arms, fit to kill, are just holding, not hurting. It makes no sense. It makes no sense at all, but like the way he smokes and the way he hopes and the way he knows things are funny, Bucky likes it. His hands press more firmly against Steve's shoulders now, holding him in place, and he can feel them rub against the blond's hard muscles. He doesn't know why he does that, but it feels good. So much heat. So much strength. And no pain, none at all, while Steve wraps him in his arms and cries against his neck, his hot breath coming in shallow gasps and warming Bucky's throat, and he can feel the blond's hair scratch over his jaw, over the short dark stubble covering it, and that feels good, too.

He has no idea what he did to make Steve cry, but the man doesn't seem to be in pain, so he just keeps on holding him and waits. If Steve were injured he could help – he knows a lot about most injuries, can set broken bones and stop bleeding wounds and move dislocated limbs back into place. But apparently that's not needed now. It's a shame, really, because he wants to help Steve, wants to make it stop, whatever has him crying like that. But he can't do that if he doesn't know what it is.

''Why are you crying?'' he finally asks, hopes he doesn't startle the man. Maybe he forgot about him already, maybe he thinks Bucky is someone else. He looked very lost before he moved, maybe he is imagining things. Bucky knows what's that like, so he hopes Steve won't panic.

''God, Bucky,'' the blond whispers against his throat. It sounds a lot like when he they fought on the helicarrier. That's probably not a good sign. Bucky feels his jaw tense. He wonders what he did wrong.

''I won't hurt you,'' he says, because maybe that plays a role in this. Maybe Steve is traumatized, Bucky caused him quite a lot of pain. In the back of his mind a list of injuries rattles along – _fractured jaw nose cheek bone split lips concussion dislocated shoulder bullet wounds to shoulder chest thigh fractured wrist cracked ribs_ – and it drags on, but he doesn't listen.

''I missed you so much,'' the man in his arms sobs against his throat, and Bucky scowls. That makes no sense. ''You're here... God, Bucky,'' he says again, and then his head comes up and he looks into Bucky's face. His eyes are swollen and bloodshot and wet with tears, as are his cheeks. His lips are so red they look ruby, wet and parted and quivering, and Bucky feels something inside his chest protest. He doesn't like the sight – he likes that Steve is here now, that he actually came and that he's not trying to hurt Bucky, but he is clearly in distress, and Bucky doesn't like that one bit.

''It's okay,'' he says and makes his voice a little softer. He's not good at it, but he knows he always hated the sharp, harsh voices of his handlers, so maybe it's better if he doesn't speak like that. ''It's okay,'' he says again although it clearly isn't, and he slowly brings his human hand to Steve's face and brushes his thumb over the blond's cheek. There are tears everywhere, and he wants them gone.

There is no way he can work with Steve like that, no way they can talk. Steve needs to calm down, and so Bucky wipes away his tears, as carefully as he can so he doesn't startle the man into attacking him.

''Bucky,'' Steve whispers into his face when his thumb grazes the man's skin. He nods and continues to hunt down the tears.

''Don't cry,'' he murmurs. Hopes Steve won't take it as a command and deck him for that, because Bucky remembers how short-tempered he was when he was distressed enough to cry and his handlers told him to stop. He rarely ever got violent, it wouldn't have done any good, but Steve is not him. Steve is stronger and not afraid, and he can kill Bucky if he wants to.

He hopes it won't come to that.

''S-sorry,'' Steve murmurs and swallows. Bucky's brows knit in confusion – Steve doesn't need to apologize to _him_ , he's not his handler – but he doesn't comment. Just runs the back of his index finger over Steve's chin to catch the lingering tears and carefully continues on the other side. His glove is soaked by now, but he doesn't want to use his other hand. The one still resting on Steve's shoulder and rubbing small, gentle circles into his muscles, as carefully as hard metal can. He doesn't want those fingers near Steve's face, not after what they did to him.

''You...'' The blond swallows again, painfully hard, and Bucky watches in fascination as his Adam's apple bobs up and down. There are glistening lines on his throat as well, running down his golden skin, over the small hollow where he can see the skin tremble against Steve's hammering pulse, soaking the collar of his shirt. Bucky lets his fingers follow those lines, dries them as softly as he can - _crush his windpipe dig his fingers into the crook slam his head forward bring up his palm to shatter his nose_ – and when Steve doesn't continue his words he looks up.

His eyes are incredibly blue.

''Go on,'' he asks softly, and it sounds like a plea. Good. He can't command Steve, doesn't want to. _Don't fight_. _Don't give them a reason_. He just wants to hear him speak, wants to see the stream of tears die down and know that Steve is with him.

''You came... for me?'' the blond finally manages. It sounds choked and hesitant, and Bucky scowls.

''Who else?'' he asks before he can stop himself. Not good. Steve has every reason to hate him, every reason to hurt him, every reason to kill him. He asked a question, he wants an answer, not... another question.

Asking questions is never good, especially not when they come from the Winter Soldier. He is no longer with his handlers, but Steve holds similar authority, so Bucky still bites his lips and hopes he didn't cross the line. It's been too long since he talked to someone.

Steve looks at him for what feels like an eternity – _seventeen_ _seconds_ – then he swallows again, and Bucky quickly pulls his hand away before his fingers can get in the way of the blond's moving throat. And Steve... Steve reaches up and catches it with his own hand. The spot where it pressed against Bucky's back until now feels empty, cold and aching as if it's missing something, but even through the glove he can feel the heat seep into his skin, the strength cradling his fingers, and it feels good, it's... no, not good. Not good at all. Steve can shatter his wrist now, crush his fingers, dislocate his arm, force him down, maneuver him into submission... but he doesn't. He just rubs his thumb against Bucky's palm and stares at their hands as if they are telling him something. And Bucky doesn't pull away – because he doesn't know whether he's allowed to, because he doesn't want to disturb Steve while he's not hurting him, and because it feels good.

He waits and watches, his attention resting on the bright blue eyes, and Steve continues to hold his hand and massage it and study it like it's a miracle. Or maybe he is thinking about the gloves. They are good, the best Bucky had in months. He always needs a lot of gloves, every time things like in the elevator happen, and he could understand if Steve is thinking about them now.

But somehow he knows that's not the case. He's not stupid after all. Just afraid.

Then he flinches a little, because Steve looks back up and meets his stare, and his eyes are so, so blue... how can eyes even have that color? They are still bloodshot, slightly swollen and red where his salty tears irritated the tender skin, but that doesn't change a thing. Piercing blue and beautiful and intimidating and... Bucky swallows. He is always afraid that someone might see him. Not just look at him, acknowledge that he's there, but _see_ him, see what he is, what he did, what he is hiding, and now... now Steve sees him, but it is so much more intense. It's the same look he had when they met before.

As if he knows things, and Bucky has no trouble believing that.

''You are safe now,'' Steve says to him, and his voice is as soft and gentle as Bucky tried to make his own. ''You are safe, I promise.'' It's the same thing that Stark said to him, told him at least a dozen times while he pinned Bucky down and waited for his panic to subside, but now... now it's Steve. From Stark's mouth it had been empty promises. From Steve's lips, Bucky can believe it.

''Safe,'' he echoes absentmindedly. That's what he came for. That and more, but he can't really remember it now. Those bright blue eyes, he can't think while they are locked on him like that. As if they know something. As if they want to say something, as if there was nothing more important than him right now. It's not the first time he sees that look, he remembers seeing it quite often during his mission, but then it was always combined with cries and tears and blood and metal and pain, and they looked at him like that because he was the Winter Soldier. Intense, that's the word. He has received many intense looks, but the way Steve stares at him... it's different. The same, and yet it is completely, utterly, absolutely different.

At some point he realizes that he doesn't know how much time has passed, and it takes him a moment until his brain catches up. Three minutes, fifty seconds. Strange. That never happened before.

Steve smiles at him. It's a real smile, the kind Bucky will never know how to do, and it sends a flood of warmth through his nerves. Safe. He tentatively tries to smile back, but it doesn't really work. He can't smile, even if he wants to, because he is still afraid. Because he doesn't know what will happen next. Because Steve has come to him, but that doesn't mean anything. S.H.I.E.L.D. wants his head and every other part of him, and maybe he is missing something. Maybe he isn't safe after all.

The smile comes out a smirk, he can feel it, knows the way his mouth twists on one side only, and for some reason Steve's lips part when he does that, and his eyes flicker to that smirk.

''You look so much like yourself,'' he murmurs weakly, and Bucky tilts his head. He didn't know that. Himself, that probably means the Bucky he wants to remember. If he looks like him... good. That's good, that's very good. It's the Bucky Steve wants. If Steve will really keep him safe, that's the least he can give him.

His smirk grows a little more intense, and he can feel the skin around his eyes crinkle while he studies the blond. It's good to see him again.

''Alright,'' Steve finally murmurs, and his broad chest shivers a little when he takes a deep breath. His eyes change but the smile is still lurking on his lips. His fingers around Bucky's hand still, then they give a slight squeeze. And then the smile returns, breaks on his face with a new intensity. It's not all that soft anymore, but it looks relaxed. Amused. Steve looks down, studies the way they are standing.

''We look like a couple on the dance floor,'' he notes dryly, and Bucky, until now a little mesmerized by that unexpected smile, furrows his brown and follows Steve's look. He never danced before, not in a way that he would remember, but some part of him knows the other Bucky did. And the moment that knowledge surfaces in his mind he knows that it's all wrong. Steve's left hand is resting in his right, so he supposes he would lead, but on the other side it's the other way around. His hand on Steve's shoulder, Steve's hand on his back. He scowls.

For some reason that vexes him, even if he doesn't know how to dance and Steve doesn't look like he wants to do that now. Still, it's all wrong. Steve should lead, but that would mean switching sides, and he can't give Steve his other hand, his metal hand... so they can't dance. As simple as that, although he has a feeling that if Steve asked, he would try it nevertheless.

Just because it feels so nice to stand with him like that.

''Doubt we'd be any good,'' he hears himself mutter. He can't remember a single dance. He can't even remember music, so it seems like an impossible task. Steve chuckles, and Bucky's eyes dart up to meet his again. The sound is so unexpected that he frowns a little harder.

But he likes it. All of it, Steve standing so close to him, close enough to bathe in his heat, with his arm on Bucky's back and his fingers rubbing over his palm and his eyes locked on his face and a smile on his lips. It's so different from their last encounter that Bucky wonders how they even got here. Then he remembers. Right.

He surrendered.

''What happens now?'' he asks, because he would really like to know what it waiting for him. Maybe Steve won't tell him, but maybe he is allowed to ask. The blond studies him for a few seconds, thoughts whirling behind his mesmerizing eyes, and then he smirks. It's nearly as nice as his smile.

''We get you settled,'' he says silently. Bucky has no idea what that means – it stirs up some memories, and he tries to ignore them – but he nods.

''Okay.'' If that's what Steve wants to do... he came here for him, after all. He came here because he doesn't know what else to do, and either it gets better or it gets worse, but at least he's with Steve now. Maybe he will regret this, maybe Steve lied, maybe Steve will leave him alone or give him to S.H.I.E.L.D. or H.Y.D.R.A., but somehow that all seems far away. Steve's not like that. He doesn't know how he knows that, but he's certain of it.

Maybe it's the way the blond looks at him. As if he's actually happy that Bucky is here.

''C'mon, pal,'' the Captain murmurs. His fingers press against Bucky's back one last time, sending a pleasant shiver over his skin, and then they disappear when Steve lets go and turns. Bucky wants to hold him back, wants to ask questions. Wants to hear more promises, wants him to put his hand back on that now cold and empty spot below his shoulder blade, wants to look into those eyes and search for his memories.

Instead he trails after Steve, his hand still captured in the blond's gentle hold, and lets himself be led to the door. Before he opens it Steve looks at him.

''Might get a bit nasty now,'' he informs him, and Bucky wonders whether that means a fight. But his friend – is he his friend? He never had a friend, but if he could have one he'd want it to be Steve – is still smiling, and so Bucky shrugs. That doesn't scare him.

''I'm with you,'' he promises, hopes the blond will understand. He is all there is, the only thing in Bucky's new life that makes at least a little sense, the only thing that seems to have a place. He won't lose that again, no matter how nasty it will get.

Steve's eyes widen at that, as if Bucky said something surprising. Did he? True, the Winter Soldier doesn't side with anyone, but that's not him anymore. Bucky can side with whoever he wants, at least until someone stops him. Right now, the only one who could do that is standing before him, and he's also the only one Bucky wants to side with at all. It seems to fit rather well, like Steve's words fit the pictures and words at the exhibition.

''...'til the end of the line,'' Steve eventually whispers.

And that fits as well, although it makes no sense. Bucky hesitates for a moment. Let's the words roll through his mind. Then he nods, can feel a smirk tuck at his lips again. It feels right.

And Steve breaks into a smile, so bright and beautiful he wants to drown in it. The sight is enough to set the brunette's mind at ease, despite S.H.I.E.L.D. and his questions and the fact that this might get nasty. Microexpressions. Continuity. Knowing eyes. That smile, and no pain although Steve could have hurt him. Some very good reasons, better ones than he had for months now. Bucky decides to close his fingers a little tighter around Steve's, and the smile grows radiant before Steve opens the door.

''Finally!'' That's Stark. He sounds impatient, and when Bucky trails after Steve and steps into the corridor he can see the man, still in his suit, leaning against the wall not too far away. The three agents are still there, and two men that look like the one who brought the coffee, but they turn and walk away now, looking anxious.

''You aim that thing in my general direction and we got a problem, pal,'' Steve says to one of the agents, and the armed, armored man manages to look surprised even through the cover of his helmet. He quickly points his barrel at the ground, and while Bucky still watches, waiting for them to jump him because that's what they should do, Steve gently pulls at his hand and leads him out of the room.

''Hey!'' Stark, again. ''Where do you think you're headed, hm?'' He parts from the wall and walks towards Steve, his movements radiating tension and annoyance. Time seems to freeze for a moment while Bucky stares at him with wide eyes, and Steve seems to be frozen as well, covering the brunette with his broad back - _run or fight, run or fight, but you can't fight, you can't give them a reason, don't fight, don't... but you can't run either, you can't run because Steve is here and Steve won't run, Steve would never run, but you can't fight you can't give them a reason you can't_ – and before Stark has made another step, the Captain emits a warning growl that sounds like a 'no'. It rumbles through Bucky's mind, silences the turmoil inside, and the approaching Avenger stops as well, has a scowl blooming on his face.

''Don't make this awkward, Tony,'' Steve says. His voice is low, calm and confident, but there is an audible 'or else' in his words that sends a shiver down Bucky's back. The three agents are still standing around them, weapons aimed on the ground, watching, and Bucky wonders what will happen if it _does_ get nasty. Steve can take Stark and he takes care of the agents – or the other way round, because his arm is better equipped to get through that suit. Steve doesn't have his shield, but he is good enough to take them nevertheless. In his mind, Bucky prepares for the fight to come, because one look at Stark's unprotected face makes it obvious he won't back down.

''Making things awkward is my profession, blondie,'' he replies to Steve's warning, and it sends a jolt of something through Bucky's nerves. He doesn't like the way he whips the words at Steve.

''Yeah, we all know that. Now leave us alone, we've got things to do.''

''Like what?''

''Like none of your business.''

''Listen, Cap, I know you like that guy,'' Tony says and points at Bucky, and all the while the brunette and the three agents just stand in silence and wait for the violence. ''But Fury wants him bad, and I really think -''

''I don't care. He came to me, not Fury.''

''He killed the man.'' Stark sounds incredulous, and now and then his eyes flicker to Bucky. The brunette resists the temptation to bare his teeth. _Don't give them a reason_. He shifts a little closer to Steve, warily eyeing the agent standing next to him, and when the blond's fingers around his hand give a warm little squeeze he can feel his nerves calm down.

''Last time I checked he got over it quite well. Besides, we both know it's not about that.'' Steve's voice sounds sure, unimpressed, although Iron Man is standing a few feet away and obviously enraged. Bucky admires his composure.

''No,'' the other Avenger snarls lowly, ''it's about a known H.Y.D.R.A. assassin, slaphappily murderin' his way through history for decades now, who had the nerve to just saunter into my tower in broad daylight and obviously got you wrapped around his blood smeared trigger finger. Which is part of a weapon system that I won't allow in here, by the way.'' His voice is growing colder with every word, and although Bucky isn't surprised he thinks that way he feels a new wave of tension. It is the truth, after all, Steve has to see that, and there is no way...

''You want him unarmed?'' the blond asks. The question itself is enough to unsettle Bucky – _without the arm you're nothing, no matter how much you hate it, without it you are weak and useless please don't let them take it Steve please_ – but something in the man's voice... it sounds strained. He casts a tense look past the his shoulder. Stark's face is an icy mask, and something is working underneath.

Then he breaks into a sudden grin and shakes his head.

''You _had_ to beat me to that one, didn't ya?'' he asks, and his teeth gleam when he laughs. Bucky stares at him, not sure what is happening.

Steve's hand closes a little tighter, and when he casts a look over his shoulder, looks at Bucky as if to make sure he is still there, his eyes are sparkling. The smile on his lips is soft, knowing, and his

thumb once more presses against Bucky's palm and begins circling again. He draws a breath, feels a little better. Maybe this is where it goes downhill, but the touch is soothing.

''So,'' Stark interrupts his thoughts and crosses his arms with a metallic ringing. ''I take it you wanna be an idiot about this?''

''Try and stop me,'' Steve says in return, and then, without any indication as to what will happen next, he just turns around and starts walking away. Bucky doesn't miss a beat, slips past the agents and after him, but the feeling of Stark and three armed men in his back sends icy shivers down his spine.

''Hey!'' Stark calls after them, once more enraged. ''You can't just make off with my prisoner!''

''Watch me,'' Steve snaps over his shoulder, but he doesn't sound angry. Not even tense, just... determined. Bucky isn't sure what's going on, whether they'll be shot now, whether this will end bloody, whether he is missing something, where they are going, but he bites down his questions and trails after Steve. In light of the circumstances that seems to be his best option, and it's the most pleasant one as well because he gets to hold on to Steve's hand.

The blond leads him down the corridor with long, purposeful strides, and Bucky can't help it, he has to cast a look over his shoulder. Never turn your back on your enemies, never ever do that, and to his surprise Stark and the agents are still standing where they left them, watching them go as if it was none of their business, although Stark rolls his eyes and shakes his head, visibly annoyed.

Something just happened here, but Bucky has no idea what it is. Then he decides that he doesn't care. He came for Steve, and Steve is here now. Seeing him, talking to him, smiling and holding his hand and leading the way, and that is so much more than Bucky dared to expect. He thought he'd be dead by now, or worse.

So he turns around again, focuses his eyes on Steve and lets himself be lead away.

 


	4. Chapter 4

''I was looking for you,'' Steve says a few minutes later when they are standing in the elevator. He just... ignored everything while he lead Bucky through the corridors. He ignored the people around them who quickly made way when he strode past, the Winter Soldier in tow. He ignored the men in suits that tried to talk to him at one point, anxiously fingering their weapons while they jogged along, never daring to leave Bucky out of sight. And he ignored the smooth voice in the elevator, asking him whether he was _absolutely_ _sure_ that this is a good idea, and just kept pressing the buttons until the cabin doors shut and they started moving.

Bucky doesn't even know how one man can radiate so much confidence, unarmed and without his shield, H.Y.D.R.A.'s attack dog in his back. It is intimidating. It is beautiful. And it feels safe, in a strange, reassuring way, because the blue lightning in Steve's eyes whenever someone tried to talk to him hasn't been aimed at Bucky. When he looks at him, there is only softness.

Bucky is more and more convinced that this had been a good decision.

''I know,'' he says when the blond's words seep through. ''I was... confused.'' Mad with fear, really, but he doesn't need to say that. He knows that Steve tried to track him down, and there had been some close calls. At one point he heard the door to the abandoned apartment, his hideout at the time, open when he was still perched in the window, and that was what had finally scared him into more consequence hiding. Because he wasn't sure what Steve wanted with him. Whether he wanted to kill him, or just hurt him back for the things he did, or whether S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent him to take the Winter Soldier into custody. He was afraid, and so he ran. It took some time to get over that.

But he did it, and now he's here, and Steve is still holding his hand. Massaging his palm, and it feels incredibly good. He wants to take off his glove, feel the touch against his bare skin, but he decides to wait instead. Maybe they are still not in the clear, and he mustn't get distracted. Not now. Not yet.

''I'm glad you found me, Buck.'' Steve's voice is soft, and he smiles. ''I really am.'' It sounds genuine. Looks genuine. Bucky decides to believe it, and that has him smirk again.

''Had to,'' he admits because he has to say something. ''They were getting too close. And... the things you said.'' He draws some air. Thinking about the words also brings back the memory of slamming his fist into Steve's face. Can't change that now. ''They make sense.'' Not all of it, but enough. More than ever before. There are still gaps, but maybe he can fill those, just like the gaps in his mind.

Steve's thumb stills, rests against his palm for a moment, and he looks thoughtful. Bucky waits for him to continue, but while the cabin rises higher and higher nothing happens. So Bucky decides it's his turn, and he softly presses his fingertips against the strong muscles and starts massaging them in turn. Gently, like Steve did. And that has the blond's smile flare up again, so beautiful it hurts.

''We'll get you sorted, Buck,'' he promises. ''No one will get you here, I promise. I'll keep you safe.'' The words send a soft shiver over the brunette's back. Safe. He doesn't know whether he ever was safe, whether it feels the way he likes to imagine it would – no one trying to track him down, no one trying to trap him and catch him or kill him, no way they can find him so he can finally get some sleep and stay in one place for a while – but he hopes it is. And somehow he can't even wonder whether Steve is trying to trick him. Now that he came for him, that he didn't just check him off his list or attack him or ignore him, a lot of things in Bucky's mind seem obsolete.

Suddenly he is very tired.

''Thank you, Steve,'' he murmurs, just because he likes the feeling of that name rolling over his lips. And because he is grateful, so very, very grateful. Even if this is a trap and he will end up where he left off or worse, if it will all start anew... right now he feels good. That's more than he ever had, and he cherishes it.

''Don't thank me, Buck,'' Steve says warmly. ''I owe you more than that. I owe you everything.''

Bucky knows it isn't true. Steve doesn't owe him anything, it's the other way around. And Bucky will make it up to him, even if it takes a lifetime, if he has that much time. Even if it's not enough, he will try. There's nothing else for him anyway, and Steve deserves whatever he can do.

The cabin eventually comes to a stop, and although he knows that Steve is by his side, Bucky can feel his shoulders tense. He doesn't know how S.H.I.E.L.D. is structured, how much authority Steve has – he is Captain America after all, the First Avenger – but even if they can't just go over his head, there could be trouble ahead. Agents, trying to bring Bucky away. He _is_ a danger. He was for decades now, and he understands why he should be locked up. He hasn't hurt anyone since he dragged Steve out of the water, but they can't know that.

And so, despite Steve's hand in his, he clenches his jaw and prepares.

Steve notices, of course he does. His smile is gentle.

''Don't worry, Buck,'' he murmurs when the doors of the cabin open. ''No one will come for you. You're with me now.'' The words roll through his mind like honey, sweet and soft and smooth, and Bucky nods.

''Okay,'' he whispers and holds Steve's hand a little tighter – but there is no one waiting for them. The space before the elevator is empty, a small room, not even as big as the one he waited in, and it looks... friendly. Steve steps out and Bucky follows, trusting that Steve will know whether there's danger ahead. This is his world, after all. If there is a place for Bucky in it, Steve will be the one to find it. And if there isn't...

He forces the thought aside. Not now.

''Alright,'' Steve says and looks over his shoulder, a smile on his lips. ''This...'' He nods towards the only door, opposite of the elevator that closes behind them. ''Is my apartment. Mine and Thor's, really, but he's barely around... just you and me, so you can relax a little.'' That sounds good. Bucky knew that Steve moved out of his apartment in D.C. - he went there one night, hoping to find him – but he didn't know that he now lives in the Avengers Tower. It probably makes sense, to live where he works. It was the same for Bucky, although it was really more waiting between missions and cryo, and of course it wasn't an apartment, not for the Asset. It would have been wasted.

Steve raises his hand and presses it to a blank screen next to the door. Palm scanner. Not the safest solution, but Bucky assumes it is sufficient, in a building made of glass. Then the door clicks open, and Steve leads him inside. Into his apartment. Into his home. Only know does Bucky realize what that really means, and he feels a wave of something warm wash over his skin.

He decides that he won't give Steve a reason to regret this. That, at least, Bucky can do.

Feeling a little more confident he shoots the man another smirk, closer to a grin this time. In reply he receives the most dazzling smile, blue eyes sparkling so brightly the seem to glow, and nearly walks against the doorpost.

''Whoa, you alright?'' A shadow of concern flashes over the blond's face, hunted by amused relief when Bucky nods and glares at the doorpost, trying to figure out what just happened. Steve laughs, and Bucky feels his cheeks heaten.

It feels surprisingly good.

''Alright, c'mon in, Buck,'' Steve chuckles and tucks at his hand, ''before you start demolishing the Tower.''

''Uhm, concerning that...'' the brunette begins awkwardly when he pads after Steve, but then he manages to tear his eyes off the blond and look around... and falls silent.

''Well what?'' the blond asks and shuts the door, then takes in Bucky's face. ''You alright?''

''Y-yeah,'' he stutters, not sure whether that's true. He doesn't know what he expected – Steve is Steve, after all, he's important and a hero, he is nothing like the Winter Soldier – but it's certainly not _this_. Bright, smooth wood wherever he looks, light and warm colors, walls of shimmering glass and a fluffy white carpet, a cozy seating area and so, so much space... he clears his throat and averts his eyes, tries to get himself under control. It's good. It's very, _very_ good, because all this, the light and the cushions and the friendly colors and the fucking paintings on the wall, are _nice_. It looks like a home, it looks safe, and he realizes that he feared Steve might be to S.H.I.E.L.D. what Bucky was to H.Y.D.R.A., a weapon to be stashed somewhere, crammed into a corner until it's needed again.

Apparently he was wrong. Steve has a home, and it's _nice_. The brunette draws a breath.

''I ruined Stark's elevator.'' It comes a little too quickly, but damn it, he has to say something. Steve, still holding his hand as if he means to never let go again – _please don't_ – raises a brow.

''You did?''

''Yeah.'' Bucky shrugs, because there's really not much he can do about it now, right? And Stark didn't try to strangle him, so it's probably not that bad. The guy is rich, after all. ''Had a little... panic attack. It was either the cabin or his face.'' His voice is surprisingly calm. Relaxed, even, and on closer inspection it turns out he feels the part as well. Relaxed.

He smirks, and Steve gives him a lopsided grin.

''Made the right choice, then. He happens to like his face.''

Bucky hears a chuckle. It takes him a moment to realize it's his own.

Steve gently tugs at his hand.

''Let me show you around,'' he says, still smiling. And Bucky nods and tries to catch on to his mind. It's like a dream, unreal and strange and confusing – but a good one, the kind he never has. And yet the feeling of Steve's hand in his is real.

He takes a deep breath, and then he smiles. He feels like he could get used to that.

 


End file.
